Allies
by WickedBlue
Summary: NCIS LA x Magnificent Seven ATF AU: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.
1. Chapter 1

**Allies by WickedBlue**

**Warnings**: h/c, swear words, torture, irate blonds and mean bad boys

**Summary**: NCIS: Los Angeles – The Magnificent Seven, ATF AU crossover: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta achillies-eel. Her comments were not only helpful but also highly entertaining. I feel kind off sorry for you guys that I had to delete them from the final version. You don't know what you're missing.

On to the story

Chris Larabee was on the way to meet Judge Orin Travis for lunch when he saw him.

It was just as he was leaving his car and heading for an Italian restaurant; he almost didn't recognize him at first, he was much older now. It had been - what, ten years, twelve? But he did recognize him; he would never forget that face. The bastard had killed a lot of DEA agents while working under a Russian businessman who had dealt with everything from Kalashnikovs to nuclear missiles. The ATF had once received information about a big weapons deal that would be going down, a deal involving four nuclear warheads. Working on the tip, they'd raided the weapons dealer's place in a joint operation with the DEA after scouting him out for several weeks. They had caught nearly everybody - but not this man; somehow, he had managed to escape.

His name was Alexander Darkov, his father Russian, mother American, making it possible for him to move freely between both countries.

Chris had tried to find him afterwards, but to no avail. There had been no trace of Darkov; the man had vanished completely.

And now he was here. The little bastard had the nerve to do his dirty business in _his_ city. He would soon get what he deserved, Chris thought furiously.

"You won't get away this time, you bastard," he snarled quietly to himself as he stood to follow the man into the building.

NCISLAxM7x

Callen had been undercover for two weeks now, and their subject was close to trusting him with the more important information. It would usually have taken much longer for him to get to this point, but Callen had worked under this specific cover before when investigating a high-profile drug lord the previous year.

That was where he had met Jonathan Mayfield III – John to his friends – the first time. He had been one of the buyers, but had left before the big showdown. Callen's cover had never been blown, so Vance had sent him in to make contact and get a job as one of Mayfield's informants. Mayfield had only been too happy to offer him a job, believing that Callen - or rather, his undercover persona, Allen Collins - knew a lot of people in high and low places, which could only help his business, as it had taken a hard hit when one of his main suppliers had been arrested a few weeks before. Callen had been ordered especially to Denver for this case. The NCIS team there had needed an in into Mayfield's business, and Callen, having dealt with Mayfield before, was the perfect undercover agent for this job.

At the moment, he was on his way to meet with the drug lord. Or rather, Allen Collins was.

This was the fourth time they would meet in person, and while Callen had gotten deeper into Mayfield's affairs than any other agent before him, the paranoid drug lord still didn't trust him too much. This made Callen's life a lot harder and a lot more dangerous. Mayfield still let his men search him thoroughly every time they met, and Callen didn't yet dare to bring any surveillance equipment into the restaurant. Which of course meant that backup was further away than he would like it to be.

The Denver team had set up a watching post in a house opposite the restaurant, but they could only see who was going into the place, and who came out. And while they seemed to know what they were doing, Callen couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable without Sam there to watch his six.

Entering the restaurant, he nodded at two of Mayfield's goons who were watching the entry door to the drug lord's office. Callen knew that Mayfield had quite a few more people in the restaurant, one of whom would now be reporting his arrival to the boss.

He took a covert look around to take a note of their locations, just in case, then turned and ordered a beer at the bar, smiling at Becky, the waitress. After all, it would look suspicious if he didn't take on Mayfield's offer of free drinks while he was waiting. It also helped that the glass of one of the picture frames above the shelf reflected the entry to Mayfield's office, and most of his 'muscles', perfectly.

But while he was as cautious as always, he wasn't really worried. This was just a routine gig. His cover was pretty much airtight, courtesy of Eric, and this meeting was just one of many that would take place in the following weeks as they worked out the kinks in a bigger weapons deal.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7.

Callen periodically checked the reflection in the picture frame for any changes while continuing to keep up the pretence of talking to the waitress. Even with this precaution, a sudden attack from behind took him totally by surprise, and he went down hard.

Slightly dizzy from the fall, he saw a dark, fuzzy figure looming over him. Years of training and experience helped him dodge the hands that reached down to grab him off the floor. Rolling away, he unleashed a kick to his attacker's unprotected side. Although the position he was in - still lying on the ground as he was - didn't allow for too much force behind the kick, it still bought him enough time to jump up and get some distance between him and his unknown attacker. But the other man was fast, and before he could do anything to stop it, he was grabbed and thrown against the bar.

"Darkov, you son of a bitch," the man snarled, kicking him in the side. Callen felt one of his ribs give, and the sharp pain pushed away the darkness rising up on him. Still in a daze, it took him a moment to figure out where he recognized that name from.

"Shit," he hissed when it came back to him. This wasn't good; this wasn't good at all. This could actually blow his cover and get him into deep trouble.

Well. Deeper trouble than he already was in, if that was possible.

But he didn't have time to think about it further, as a moment later he was pulled up again while the blond readied himself for his next attack. This time Callen managed to step aside and block the oncoming punch with his left arm, while at the same time delivering a hard right into the man's gut which made him fold over. A powerful elbow to his now unprotected back made him crash hard to the ground.

The man fell to the ground, winded, but unfortunately still conscious. He looked up at Callen, his eyes blazing furiously. Callen knew he had to take him out while he was down, but he couldn't make his body move from where he was half-leaning against the bar, panting from the pain. He could only watch as the black-clad man got up and threw himself against Callen again, attacking him viciously.

This time Callen could swear he actually heard one of his ribs breaking.

He must have blacked out for an instant, because he suddenly found himself on the ground, the world around him blurry and swirling violently.

Through his hazy vision, he watched as the blond advanced towards him, growling furiously, "Alexander Darkov, you are hereby arrested for weapons dealing and the murder of three federal agents."

Callen just looked at him, too dizzy to be able to make sense of what he had just heard. Just before he fell unconscious, he heard shouting, and felt someone grab him. Then everything went black.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7.

~ End of chapter ~

A/N: This fic is complete, but I still have to clean it up a bit and will upload the next chapters as soon as I have time.

Please review. It will probably take you a lot less time than it took me just to come up with the name for the fic . :-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Allies by WickedBlue**

**Warnings**: h/c, swear words, torture, irate blonds and mean bad boys

**Summary**: NCIS Los Angeles – The Magnificent Seven ATF AU crossover: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta achillies-eel.

Chapter 2

Callen came to what must have been mere minutes later, and found himself being held up by two of Mayfield's goons in his office. His whole body hurt like hell, but he forced himself to look around and try to figure out how to get out of this situation. To his right, he could see two more of Mayfield's men keeping a tight hold on his attacker, who was struggling against the hold and looking, if possible, even more furious than before.

That man was a police officer or federal agent, and Mayfield wouldn't be pleased about him making trouble in his restaurant. Damn. Callen would have to try to get the man out of this. He was just a cop doing his job. Although he couldn't help but be a bit angry that the guy had attacked him like this; it seemed like this was personal for him.

Oh yeah, Mayfield was really, really angry. "What the hell is going on here, Collins?" he screamed furiously at Callen.

"You brought a cop here, you little bastard, into my house. What did you tell him?"

"Look, he's just confusing me with someone else. It has nothing to do with you, John. Just let him go, I'm sure he won't make any problems for you."

Even hurt, Callen was slipping easily into his Allen Collins persona as he tried to pacify the furious drug lord. To his right, he heard the blond snarling, "I know exactly who you are Darkov, you bastard. I've seen you in Kiev, and I never forget a face."

Damn, he would have to teach that cop a lesson in subtlety if they ever got out of here, Callen decided, trying hard to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Wouldn't do to make Mayfield even more suspicious, and that guy even angrier.

Turns out that it didn't take much. Mayfield, not happy with Callen telling him what to do, slapped him hard, making Callen's head ring even louder. Looking at his men, he ordered, "Throw them into the delivery van; I'll deal with them later. We need to leave before this place starts swarming with cops."

Shit, Callen thought when they were led to the back entrance of the building. The NCIS team didn't have anyone at the back. There would be nobody left here when his team finally noticed that something was wrong. He was pretty sure that they hadn't noticed him getting into trouble, or this place would already be swarming with agents.

And they wouldn't even know where to look for him.

Recognizing the seriousness of their situation, he started to struggle when they tried to drag him away. Unfortunately, there was not much strength left in him, and all it took was a final punch to his head to render him unconscious.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7.

Callen woke up lying in the back of a moving van. His wrists and ankles had been bound with duct tape, and his head was pounding like hell. He gave it up as a lost cause to try to make sense of the situation and just closed his eyes, again succumbing to the blackness surrounding him.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7.

It was cold water that woke him up the next time. Looking around, he saw that they were in a room he had never seen before. Mayfield stood in front of him, and he had six of his man with him. On a signal from their boss, two of them grabbed him and pulled him up, holding him between them.

"I like you, Collins," Mayfield began, stepping closer to Callen. "I've known you long enough to know that you're no traitor. Otherwise, I would have killed you already. You know people, and you have proven quite useful, so far; exactly what we need."

After a pause, he continued somewhat angrily: "But you brought a cop to my house and made me abandon it. I can't just let this go."

Looking at his men, he ordered, "Get this son of a bitch out of my face and teach him a lesson. But don't kill him; I still need him." Then he turned to the cop who was being held by two men next to Callen. "And I will have a chat with our blond friend here," Mayfield said, smirking at the cop with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

This wasn't good. Who knew what Mayfield would do to that cop, Callen thought with concern as they dragged him out of the room. These thoughts soon came to an end, though, when they roughly pushed him into the basement.

A basement with chains and shackles.

Okay, maybe he should be more concerned for himself at the moment, Callen thought worriedly. "Cozy place you have here, guys," Callen tried to joke while looking for a way out, but they just ignored him.

Two men chained him up in the middle of the room, his arms over his head, and they cut off his bloodied shirt while the third guy left the room. Callen actually knew this guy, Thomlins something or other, and he was a cruel son of a bitch. Thomlins came back a minute later, carrying a big bullwhip with him.

Oh no. That wasn't good at all. "You know, even if I was into this kind of stuff, I hate to tell you, you're so not my type," Callen quipped, trying to not let his worry show through.

Thomlins stepped close to his prisoner, letting the back of the whip wander threateningly over Callen's bare chest. "I never liked you, Collins," he began, his voice taking on a low, hissing tone. "I don't get why the boss says we need you. You're just a weasel that has been lucky enough to have some connections. But he doesn't want you killed yet, so I won't kill you. But I will make you wish you were dead," he promised, smirking at Callen menacingly.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7.

Callen had stopped counting after ten strikes. He had promised himself he wouldn't scream, but keeping that promise was getting harder and harder. The first strikes hadn't been that bad. He had had worse from a few of his foster fathers. But then a strike ripped his skin, and then the next one, too. His back was a bloody mess by now, and he could feel the blood running down, soaking his pants. He had bit his lip, not wanting to give the bastard Thomlins the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

He knew he had lost a lot of blood, and this coupled together with the injuries from his fight with the cop was not good at all. It was getting harder to concentrate, and he could feel himself slipping. He was out long before Thomlins was stopped by another man arriving with new orders from Mayfield.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7.

Chris Larabee silently cursed himself. Thiswas quite a mess he had gotten himself into. He had recognized Mayfield as soon as he had seen him; they had been trying to take the drug lord down for quite a while, but he had always been one step ahead of them. They hadn't even known that he owned the restaurant.

Chris knew he should have called for back up or at least told Vin as soon as he had seen that little weasel Darkov on the street. But now it was too late to think about that. Hopefully the guys would pick up the clues and find him. His black truck wasn't parked too far away after all.

After his little 'chat' with the drug lord, Chris _**was**_ unceremoniously dropped into a small room in the basement. Who the hell had cameras in their basement, anyway?

He hadn't told the guy anything other then what he had already said before. He had to admit, it had probably been too much already. He had just been so furious when he had seen Darkov that hadn't thought about what he was saying.

Quite the predicament that little bastard had gotten him into. Mayfield had told Chris that he would keep him here until he knew what was going on, but Chris knew that Mayfield was probably going to kill him anyway. It was a wonder that he was still alive; but then, Mayfield was probably just worried that there were more agents waiting to bust him. Chris was just insurance. But at least for now Mayfield didn't dare rough him up too much, which definitely worked in Chris' favour.

Absently, he wondered if they would really throw one of their own men in here with him, especially after Chris had nearly killed him. Nah, Darkov probably was on his way out of here by now, having gotten a slap onto his fingers before being sent off. Although, when Chris actually stopped to think about it, he had to admit that it seemed like the weasel had actually tried to get him out of Mayfield's hands, but that couldn't be, could it?

His thoughts were interrupted by two men coming in and dropping a bloodied form in the middle of the room; a third one stayed at the door, his weapon trained on Chris.

"Have fun you two," one of the men said, in a malicious undertone, before they all left and the door was locked again.

"Shit," Larabee hissed when he recognized Darkov. The man was a bloody mess and it looked like he had been whipped. There was hardly any skin left on his back and blood was darkening his pants. For a moment, Chris actually felt sorry for the guy, before he remembered who he was and why they were here in this basement in the first place.

Slowly coming closer, Chris put a hand on Darkov's neck, checking for a pulse. Thankfully, he found one. He couldn't let the little bastard die on his watch when there was still a nice prison cell waiting for him.

But it really didn't look good. Mayfield had said he didn't want him dead, but his henchmen had certainly been quite enthusiastic.

The door opened again suddenly, and Mayfield himself stepped into the cell. Looking at Darkov, he threw a first aid kit at Chris. "He'd better be alive when I come back in the morning, or you will be the next to die," he hissed at Chris, before turning around and leaving the cell again.

"Shit!" Chris cursed again. That was just great. Now he had to take care of and keep alive the man he hated, when Chris didn't want to do anything more then kill him himself.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7.

~ End of Chapter 2 ~

A/N: This fic is complete, but it is still being edited. I will upload the next chapters as soon as possible.

Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Allies by WickedBlue**

**Warnings**: h/c, swear words, torture, irate blonds and mean bad boys

**Summary**: NCIS Los Angeles – The Magnificent Seven ATF AU crossover: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta achillies-eel.

This chapter is for skippy1967. Thank you so much for your reviews. I hope you'll like this one, too.

Chapter 3

Cleaning Darkov's wounds hadn't been fun. Chris had thought he would enjoy seeing the other man in pain after everything he had done, but after seeing the damage up close and seeing the pain every single one of Chris touches caused him, Chris was sure he was nearly as glad as Darkov was when he was finished.

Darkov had woken up shortly after Mayfield had left and had stayed conscious since then, not trusting Chris enough to let himself fall into a much needed sleep. The man had hardly made any noise, even when Chris had used alcohol to clean his wounds. This surprised Chris considerably.

He had twitched a few times when it got too much, and he was biting his lip so hard that it was bleeding, but despite that, he hadn't made a sound. Chris actually found himself stopping for a moment now and then when he noticed the pain was getting too much for the man.

There was not much he could do after cleaning the wounds. He placed some gauze on Darkov's back and pulled a blanket over him that some of Mayfield's men had brought, together with some water and a shirt for Darkov - or Collins, or whatever he was calling himself now.

"Thanks," he heard a voice say quietly once he'd finished, and he looked down at the injured man, surprised that he was talking to him.

"I didn't do it for you, Darkov," he snarled back after a moment, taking a certain satisfaction out of the flinch his tone elicited from the man, who just looked at him resignedly while fighting to keep his eyes open.

Sitting back, he noticed that Darkov was still blinking at him wearily. If he wasn't going to sleep, he might as well talk, Chris decided. "So, Darkov, Collins, or whatever; what have you been up to the past ten years?" he questioned the injured man, seemingly nonchalantly.

"Call me Collins, and you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Callen replied, quietly deflecting the question, aware of the cameras on the ceiling. Mayfield was known for not trusting his employees, and of having cameras and bugs everywhere.

"Who are you, anyway?" Callen asked while trying to roll onto his side in order to look at the cop. That small movement hurt like hell, and he couldn't suppress a moan, pressing his eyes together in pain.

"Stop moving," Chris snarled. "And the name is Chris Larabee. I'm with the ATF," he added, keeping a close eye on Darkov to see his reaction. Chris knew he and his team had quite a reputation by now. But the only reaction he could see in Darkov's otherwise unreadable expression was a short flicker of…relief? That was surprising. Chris had expected fear and panic, not relief.

For Callen, to hear that it was Chris Larabee at his side, the infamous leader of the ATF Team 7, was quite a surprise. But it actually made him feel safer.

Larabee had a similar reputation to Gibbs: a tough but fair man and team leader, who expected the best of his team and usually got it; a man who had his own rules, and didn't care much for the chain of command if it didn't fit into his plans. Sam had always spoken quite highly of the fellow Navy Seal, even though he had never met him personally. Apparently he was something of a legend among the Seals.

Now Callen kind of wished he could tell him that he was NCIS, but there was no way that the other man would actually believe him now. Not after seeing him in Kiev, and now here in his undercover role. And he needed to keep that cover up to get them out of this place alive. If Mayfield ever suspected that he was a federal agent, he would kill them both on the spot and disappear; Callen couldn't let that happen. Maybe if it wasn't for those cameras… but with them seeing and hearing everything they did and said, he just couldn't risk it.

He just hoped that Larabee wouldn't kill him in his anger at Darkov.

Feeling decidedly safer after knowing who he was imprisoned with, Callen gave in to his exhaustion and fell into a fitful sleep.

~ End of Chapter 3 ~

Sorry about the shortness of the chapter. It just made sense to cut it off at this point. The next chapter will be longer, I promise.

A/N: This fic is complete, but it is still being edited. I will upload the next chapters as soon as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**Allies by WickedBlue**

**Warnings**: h/c, swear words, torture, irate blonds and mean bad boys

**Summary**: NCIS Los Angeles – The Magnificent Seven ATF AU crossover: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta achillies-eel.

skippy1967: Your reviews always make my day. :-). This fic is my baby and I will definitely publish the entire story, even if it is just for you and me :-).

Chapter 4

Chris Larabee hardly got any sleep that night; his mind was working too hard on finding a way out of this predicament. Every now and then he checked on the other man. Even though he hated him, he didn't want him dead, and Chris was having trouble holding onto that hate after having seen the pain Darkov was in.

Just as he was checking on Darkov again, he noticed the other man slowly waking up. He felt hot to the touch, and it took him a while to focus his gaze on Chris. Definitely getting an infection, Chris concluded, after having a look at his injured back. And he probably had a concussion, too, something Chris wasn't feeling particularly bad about. But they really had to get out of there.

Before he could say something to the other man, the door opened and Mayfield came in. "Oh good, you are both still alive," he commented after taking in their condition.

"Now, Allen," he said, after turning to Callen, "we should probably have a little talk, don't you think?" Not waiting for the reply that wouldn't come anyway, he motioned to some of his men. "Help him up; I want to look into his eyes when I talk to him," he ordered.

"Now, Allen," he began again once Callen was standing in front of him, supported by the two men. "Why would the good Agent here think that your name is not Allen Collins, but Alexander Darkov?"

Callen forced himself to concentrate. He had to get them out of here, somehow, before Mayfield got too suspicious and just killed them.

"Agent Larabee is right," he admitted, brushing off the 'helping hands' of Mayfield's men. "My name used to be Alexander Darkov, and I used to work for the Russian mob in Kiev. I had to take on another name so as not to be found by the feds."

Taking a step closer to Mayfield, his voice took on a pleading tone. "You have to believe me, John, I didn't know that he was following me. I would never have…" Here he stumbled. His last strength abandoning him, he fell half onto Mayfield, dropping to the ground in front of the man.

Mayfield watched this with total indifference. "We will see," he said evenly, before turning around and leaving the room, the door falling shut behind him. Shortly after, they could hear a car starting; then there was only silence in the building above them.

Chris Larabee had watched the byplay with a derogatory expression on his face. He had to be careful with Darkov. The bastard would probably sell out his grand mother if he thought it would help. Looking at him, still lying helplessly on the ground, he cursed himself for being so soft. He crouched down next to the man, trying to figure out how bad his condition was.

Darkov lay on his injured back, his face a grimace of pain. "Darkov, hey, are you with me?" Chris asked, trying to reach the injured man.

When Darkov actually opened his eyes, Chris was surprised by the intensity in them.

"Call me Collins, if you have to. But stop calling me Darkov, will you, Larabee? Darkov has been dead and buried for more then ten years now," he growled at Chris.

"Shit!" he cursed a moment later, pain clouding his voice as he tried to roll onto his side.

Chris didn't even think when he bent down to help the man, surprised by this totally different attitude. This was more like the guy he had fought with in the restaurant, who had tenaciously fought back when other men would have already given up.

Soon after, Darkov fell into an uneasy sleep, only to wake up, startled, some time later, when Chris crouched down next to him to check on him.

"How long have I been out?" Darkov asked, looking at Chris wearily.

"About an hour," he replied evenly.

"Shit!" the man exclaimed, trying to get up.

"Hey, what do you think you are doing?" Chris snapped, stopping him halfway.

Callen looked at him angrily, loosing patience with the hate-filled agent. "I'm trying to get us out of here, what do you think?" He snapped back, panting from the exertion.

"This is stupid," Chris hissed back at him. "You can hardly stand; how exactly do you intend for us to get out of here? You might not have noticed, but we're locked in a basement without any windows, the air vents are just big enough for the rats, and I haven't seen any secret hidden doors."

"Magic," Callen deadpanned, effectively stopping the other man's tirade. "Well, that or we just use the key," he continued calmly, discretely pulling a set of keys out of his pocket.

"Where did you get those?" the blond snarled in angry surprise.

"Magic, as I …" Here Callen was roughly interrupted by a furious Chris Larabee pulling him up and shoving him against the wall. All the air went out of him and the pain that welled up in his back at the sudden impact nearly made him pass out.

When the blackness receded, he could hear the other agent yelling at him, "-is your plan? Is this a trap, you bastard?"

His face was now so close that they were nearly touching. Larabee's left hand held a crushing grip on his neck, making it hard to breathe, and his right elbow dug into his chest, pressing him hard against the wall.

"This is not a trap, Larabee," Callen panted through the pain, trying to pacify the irate man.

"Oh, yeah? Then where did you get the keys from?" the blond hissed at him quietly, aware that they might be watched.

"I pick-pocketed them from Mayfield," Callen admitted simply. Chris looked at him with disdain in his eyes

"Oh yeah, that figures; a killer, a liar, and a pick-pocket," He stated flatly.

"We do what we have to to survive," Callen replied evenly, an undertone in his voice that made the other man stop his attack and look hard into his eyes. Words somehow failing him, Chris shook his head and took a step back, taking his hands off the other man.

As soon as the hands that had been holding him up were gone, Callen's legs gave out under him, and he sank to the ground. Before he could ready himself for another hard impact, he was caught by two strong hands.

"Sorry," Chris said quietly, not knowing exactly why he was apologizing – for getting them into this situation, for treating the other man like shit, for causing him even more pain. This was not something he wanted to analyze any closer at the moment, Chris decided as he helped the injured man up.

His musings were stopped short when Darkov looked at him with a slight grin on his face.

"Don't… apologize. It's a …sign… of… weakness," he managed to say before his eyes rolled back and he sank into Chris's arms.

Chris knew that Darkov - ok, maybe Collins - needed some time to get his strength back, but they didn't have that time. They had to leave now before Mayfield noticed the missing keys, and he and his goons came back.

"Come on, now isn't the time to sleep," he muttered, trying to rouse the other man.

When Darkov finally opened his eyes, Chris took a deep, relieved breath. There was no way he could leave the other man behind, even though he would slow him down and might stab him as soon as he turned his back. But Chris wasn't that much of an asshole, even if there were a lot of people - and not only perps - who would swear the opposite. Mayfield would sure as hell kill the man if he found him here after Chris was gone. And he didn't want Dar-Collins's death on his conscience, murdering bastard or not.

"We need to leave," Chris said finally, and pulled the other man up.

~ End of Chapter 4 ~

A/N: This fic is complete, but it is still being edited. I will upload the next chapters as soon as possible.

Love it? Hate it? Would love to hear what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Allies by WickedBlue**

**Warnings**: h/c, swear words, torture, irate blonds and mean bad boys

**Summary**: NCIS Los Angeles – The Magnificent Seven ATF AU crossover: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta achillies-eel.

skippy1967: Awe, thanks :-) I hope this one won't disappoint.

Chapter 5

Callen was surprised they'd managed to make it out of the house. Fortunately, Mayfield's people had stopped paying attention to their prisoners after the big boss left, and the surveillance room had been totally empty.

There had been only three of Mayfield's men watching the building in his absence, and Larabee made short process of them; Callen, meanwhile, had a hard time just trying to keep upright against the wall where Larabee had stashed him before the fight. Like Sam had said, a good man to have in a fight.

At least as long as you were on his side. But Larabee still didn't know who he was, and it was far too late now to tell him that he was, and had always been, an undercover agent. The man would never believe him. He was far too set on hating Callen, and he wondered why that was. Ducking behind the shed away from the building, Callen voiced his question.

"So what's your problem with me, anyway? Darkov was just a small, unimportant henchman, not a big fish like Karadinov," he asked the irate blond, who was watching the rest of Mayfield's estate intently for any remaining threats, a weapon he had taken off one of Mayfield's men ready in his hands.

Slightly startled by the question, Chris turned back to the other man. The surprise quickly gave way to a renewed anger once he'd processed the question.

"You're asking me what my problem is with you?" He snapped, nearly forgetting to keep his voice down. "You killed three people - three good DEA agents - in Kiev, just because they were in your way, you bastard." Curling his hands into fists, he suppressed the urge to rip Darkov apart, barely holding back his fury.*

Realizing that voicing the question actually hadn't been such a good idea, Callen tried to calm him down. "Look, I know you won't believe me, Larabee, but I didn't kill anyone in Kiev."

Chris just shook his head in contempt, not believing the audacity of the man. "Nice try, you murdering bastard, but I know that you did it. I saw you killing them, Darkov."

That stopped Callen short. Larabee must have been one of the ATF agents working together with the DEA in Kiev. Damn, so he had seen the staged killing of three of his fellow agents, that had gotten him the trust of Karadinov and an in into his business. No one had actually been harmed. He had only fired blanks, and the agents had carried bags filled with fake blood under their clothing.

This had been at the beginning of the undercover operation, when the ATF hadn't been as much involved as they had been at the final bust. They must not have seen fit, then, to inform the other agents of their plans. In those days, co-operation between agencies, even when sharing a case, was not always a given. This would explain why Larabee was so pissed at him. And it sure as hell didn't make things easier.

Callen needed the other agent to get away, but Larabee certainly didn't need him. Actually, it was surprising that he hadn't killed him yet, or at least hadn't left him behind for Mayfield to find and kill him.

Following his accusation, Chris could see surprise, then resignation in the other man's eyes before he seemed to get a hold of himself and his expression became mostly unreadable again. But a bit of something seemed to linger; Chris just couldn't interpret what it was.

Suddenly, Darkov's eyes widened, and Chris was pushed hard to the ground. Damn, it had been a trap, Darkov had betrayed him, was his only thought as he went down, trying to struggle for his gun. But before he could push the other man away, he heard and felt bullets whizzing over their heads, hitting the shed behind them.

An instant later, Darkov rolled off him, grabbed the gun he had lost in the fall, and returned the fire. He had taken out the two gunmen before Chris even managed to take cover behind the next tree. And now he had a gun; his gun.

Realizing that the threat had been neutralized for the moment, the tension ran out of Callen. Taking a deep breath that made his ribs scream at him, he turned to check on the other agent, starting slightly at what he found. Larabee was staring right at him, his entire body tense and ready to strike.

Only then did he note the situation they now found themselves in.

Larabee didn't trust him and thought he was a killer, and now Callen had a gun in his hands. He had to do something to diffuse the situation. His body couldn't take another fight with the agent, and he didn't want to shoot him. Putting the weapon down seemed to be the only way, even though it wasn't safe here, and more of Mayfield's men could jump out of the bushes at any time. But before he could go through with it, he saw something.

Chris kept his eyes trained on the other man, prepared to take him down should he make one wrong move. He knew he had a chance if he just reacted quickly enough. Darkov was hurt, and his injuries would slow him down enough to give Chris an opening. He saw Darkov turning around to look at him, taking in his battle-ready stance. For a moment he looked resigned, almost ready to give up, when he suddenly lifted the weapon again.

Chris pounced before the weapon was totally pointed at him, taking the man down hard. He heard a shot going off just before he impacted with Darkov, and then only a pain filled cry and a grunt. Twisting the weapon out of Darkov's grasp, he kept it trained on the man he was half lying on. Only then did he stop to take stock of the situation, suddenly realizing two things. One, injured or not, Darkov was a dangerous man; and two, the pain filled cry had come from somewhere behind him.

Never taking his weapon off Darkov, he got up quickly and turned around to survey the situation. He was astonished to find another of Mayfield's goons lying unmoving on the ground. Looking back at Darkov, his mind ran on full speed. Darkov hadn't tried to shoot him. He had actually saved his life by killing another attacker Chris hadn't even noticed.

"Shit," Chris swore, running his fingers through his hair. He felt slightly perplexed, as this was a turn he hadn't expected.

Callen was in world of pain. He knew that he should get up, get somewhere safe, but he couldn't get himself to do anything else but try to keep breathing for the time being. His back and his ribs were on fire, and he had to fight hard not to pass out. He had known from the moment he'd lifted the weapon to shoot the man behind Larabee that the other agent would feel threatened by his actions and try to take him down. But he'd had to do it, otherwise their new assailant would have shot them both.

Eyes pressed tightly shut from the effort, he finally managed to get somewhat of a hold on the pain. Trying to roll on his side, he was unexpectedly supported by a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he found Chris Larabee crouched next to him, an inscrutable expression on his face.

Looking at the injured man, Chris was, for a minute, at a total loss. He knew Darkov had killed people, other agents, and that still made Chris furious, but he had just saved his life, the life of the man who had gotten him into this situation and who had treated him like shit; and in the process, he had gotten hurt even more.

"We need to get out of here," Chris said eventually, pushing his troubled thoughts aside to deal with later.

"Yeah," Callen rasped in reply, not sure if he would even be able to get on his feet, not to mention keep standing or trying walking.

He was surprised, however, when he saw Chris Larabee standing over him, his arm stretched in an unspoken offer of assistance.

Looking into the other man's eyes, he could still see mistrust and a hint of contempt, but there was also a tint of remorse and unwilling respect.

Grasping the offered hand, he was pulled up with surprising gentleness. When he was half standing, the sudden dizziness nearly made him keel over again, but two strong arms stopped his descent. It took Callen a moment to get his body under control, but soon he was standing upright.

Chris kept a supporting grip on one of Darkov's arms while surveying the estate around them for threats. For the moment everything seemed quiet, but they really needed to get out of there as soon as possible, particularly before Mayfield came back.

"You think Mayfield has some more cars stashed somewhere around here?" Darkov spoke up, apparently having come to the same conclusion.

"Probably," Chris replied succinctly, thinking hard, before stopping in his tracks. "Does that look like a garage to you?" he asked, pointing with his gun arm to the other side of the house.

Looking up to see what Larabee was pointing at, Callen grinned, finally feeling a gleam of hope.

"Let's find out," he prompted, and they slowly started to make their way to the farther end of the building. Chris never stopped keeping both eyes on their surroundings, one hand on his gun and one supporting the injured man walking beside him.

Arriving at the garage, Chris left Darkov leaning against a tree next to the driveway while he went to check out the garage door.

As he'd assumed, it was one of those new, high tech doors that didn't have a normal lock but were operated via a remote control. Just great.

But before he could figure out what to do next, heard a click right next to his left ear that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Loose the weapon and turn around slowly," a voice on his side ordered.

When he followed the orders, he was sadly only half-surprised to see that Darkov had disappeared, and he was now surrounded by three of Mayfield's men who had trained their weapons on him. It figured that the bastard would leave him behind without so much as a warning as soon as there were any problems.

His mind running at full speed, he tried to find a way out of the situation. He could probably take the guy right next to him out without problems, and maybe even one of the other guys, but then there were still a third man. Goddamnit, Darkov had chosen a totally wrong moment to leave. He sure as hell could use the guy now. Injured or not, he had proved to be quite a resilient bastard, and - Chris admitted to himself, albeit reluctantly - not a bad fighter to have on your side.

"This way," one of his assailants said, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts and proceeding to push him in the direction of the main building. The other two trailed behind them, their guns still trained on Chris.

Just before they reached the flight of stairs that led to the entry of the villa, Chris heard a commotion behind him. Recognizing it as his only chance to escape, he twirled around, taking the man closest to him by surprise. He managed to twist the gun out of the guy's hand and let it come down hard against the side of his head, making him fall boneless to the ground.

The gun ready he quickly turned to the other goons. What he saw shouldn't really have surprised him anymore, but it did: Darkov, just in the process of using what was definitely a black ops move to take out one of the remaining two men, the last man still standing stopped short by Chris pointing a gun at him.

Seeing that Chris had everything under control, Callen went to retrieve the gun his fallen opponent had left lying in the grass. Trying to get his breath back, he began taking stalk of his situation. The fighting certainly hadn't helped his condition any, but for now the adrenaline still rushing hot through his body was keeping him on his feet.

Suddenly a soft voice surprisingly close to him interrupted his thoughts. "You okay?" Larabee asked, with a tinge of concern actually clouding his voice.

"Yeah, as long as we get out of here now," he replied, seeing for the first time that Chris had rendered the third man unconscious while he had been occupied with inspecting his condition.

"I thought you were gone, Darkov," Larabee stated quietly without looking at him once they'd made their way back to the garage.

This made Callen stop and look at the other agent, waiting until he met his eyes. "You don't know me, Larabee."

Chris took in the guarded look on Darkov's face, then let his eyes sweep to the three men on the ground to look back at Darkov.

"No, I don't," he admitted, just as quietly.

Darkov looked straight into his eyes as if searching for something. What, Chris didn't know, but it seemed he found it, as he just nodded slightly and started walking again.

Stopping at the garage door for the second time, Chris turned questioningly to Callen. "You don't know how to open one of these by any chance, do you?" he asked, gesturing at the door.

"Not exactly," Darkov replied. "But we could just take the open side door," he added with a slight half grin that said, 'I know something you don't know'.

Chris just shook his head. Not even bothering with a reply he gripped the injured man's arm again, and turned to the other door.

~ End of Chapter 5 ~

A/N: This fic is complete, but it is still being edited. I will upload the next chapters as soon as possible.

Please review if you liked it. :-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Allies by WickedBlue**

**Warnings**: h/c, swear words, torture, irate blonds and mean bad boys

**Summary**: NCIS Los Angeles – The Magnificent Seven ATF AU crossover: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta achillies-eel.

skippy1967: Yay, glad that you liked it. :)

Chapter 6

"Nice car," Callen whistled appreciatively when they stopped in front of a blue sixties or something Ford Mustang. "I can't believe Mayfield drives a car like that. Must be his wife's, or girlfriend's, or his other girlfriends".

Chris rolled his eyes at the younger man's antics.

"Yeah, nice car," he said dryly as he pulled the other man away, "but we're taking that one." Chris pointed to the second car in the garage, a silver Cayenne.

"Fast and a four wheel drive. I can deal with that," Callen agreed. "I'll look around, see if I can find the keys somewhere," he said over his shoulder.

Chris nodded absently, letting his gaze rove, checking the garage while his mind was occupied with the mystery that was Alexander Darkov.

Darkov had surprised him quite often over the past two days. Unexpectedly, Chris found himself wanting to trust him more and more. He had saved Chris's ass, not once but twice today, and when he actually stopped to think about it, the man had tried to get him out of this already, yesterday at the restaurant.

Shit! He now felt totally confused. He knew Darkov was a killer. He had seen him killing those agents, no matter what Darkov said otherwise. He also knew that he dealt with weapons and drugs, and altogether that made him exactly the kind of man Chris detested deeply, and usually wanted to take out of the picture by any means necessary.

Maybe this was some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, Chris tried to convince himself, but then just shook his head. Yeah right, he said to himself sarcastically. There must be something wrong with you if you suddenly start to respect and even somehow like a killer. Sighing deeply, he tried to push that last thought out of his mind.

"You all right there, Larabee? I found the keys, and even a remote for the gate in another car," a voice interrupted his disturbing thoughts. Darkov was back, the car keys in his hand.

"I'm fine," Chris snapped, still annoyed with the turn his thoughts had taken.

Looking taken aback, Darkov flinched and his eyes took on a guarded look. Chris knew that look. Actually, he should have recognized it before; he had seen it on Darkov's face a couple of times today, but had always refused to acknowledge it. It was a look he had seen too often on Vin's face, and on too many people before him. It was a look of someone who expected to be hit. It was a look someone had after surviving abuse.

Now Chris really felt like a total asshole. He had to admit, he had been quite rough with Darkov at the beginning, and the treatment Mayfield had him go through certainly hadn't helped either.

"We need to get going," Darkov interrupted his thoughts stiffly. His face was now totally shut off and his tone matter-of-fact. "Mayfield is probably already on his way back."

"Yeah," Chris agreed quietly, not knowing what else to say. Darkov simply nodded and turned to head to the passenger side of the car. But before he could reach his side of the car, he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

When Darkov turned back to him, Chris studied him quietly for a moment, taking in the bruises on his face, the slight crouched posture which spoke of at least bruised ribs, and the still defiant glint in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," He apologized quietly, taking in the surprise in Darkov's eyes while trying to convey what he wanted to say. I'm sorry that I got you into this, I'm sorry that I hit you, I'm sorry that you had to go through so much.

Callen just opened his mouth and then closed it again, not knowing how to react to Larabee's admission. He'd thought the man hated him, or at least detested him strongly. Or rather, Darkov, anyway. But looking at him now. he couldn't see any of that hate in his eyes. No, there was respect, compassion and even concern, instead.

A bit bewildered by this change, Callen reacted the only way possible in this situation.

~~x~~

"I set myself up for that one, didn't?" Chris half-grinned.

"Where the hell did you come up with that, 'It's a kind of weakness' thing, anyway?" he added, glancing at Darkov as they were finally leaving Mayfield's estate.

Callen just looked at him, a slight grin on his face. "A friend used to drill it into my head. It kind of stuck."

Looking back on the road, the grin froze on his face. "Look out, Chris!" he shouted when he saw a big black car heading straight at them.

Chris managed to swerve at the last minute, glad they had taken the right car.

"Damn!" he swore when he saw the other car turning around and coming after them. It gained on them quickly, and Chris was forced to go even faster, despite thinking that the roads didn't look like they were made for that kind of speed.

He heard the shots just before the car jerked suddenly to the right. Chris fought hard to keep it under control, but the small movement had been enough to drag the car halfway off the narrow road. "Hold on!" was the only thing Chris could scream before the sudden loss of traction on one side sent the car spinning downhill into the forest.

The first thing Callen noticed when the world stopped turning was that they weren't dead. He had seen the trees inevitably coming closer, and had braced himself for the impact, but somehow, Larabee had managed to avoid all trees and bring the car to a stop several hundred meters away from the road.

Taking a deep relieved breath, he turned to look at Chris.

"Nice driving," he quipped.

Larabee looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "They also call me speed racer,"* he deadpanned.

Callen looked at him, then burst out laughing. "Don't… quit… your… day…job," he panted, the pain of his broken ribs forcing tears into his eyes.

But Chris was already scanning the forest behind them. "They're coming; we need to get out of here."

Turning to Callen, a concerned look fell over his eyes. "Do you think you can run?"

~ End of Chapter 6 ~

A/N: This fic is complete, but it is still being edited. I will upload the next chapters as soon as possible.

Would love to hear what you think. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Allies by WickedBlue**

**Warnings**: h/c, swear words, torture, irate blonds and mean bad boys

**Summary**: NCIS Los Angeles – The Magnificent Seven ATF AU crossover: Callen's past as an undercover agent gets him into trouble.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta achillies-eel.

This is it: the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who stuck to it to the very end, and of course especially to Skippy1967 who supported 'Allies' and me every step on the way. You are awesome!

Chapter 7

They hadn't made it very far before Chris stumbled, his foot getting caught up in some roots. Loosing the gun in the process, he fell forward, barely slowing his fall with his arms.

Callen already was several meters away before he noticed that the other man was missing.

Turning around, he saw Mayfield's goons closing in on the blond agent, and he ducked behind a tree, his thoughts running wildly as he contemplated what to do next.

He had to get Chris out of their hands somehow. He had eight bullets in his gun, and there were three guys out there. Altogether, those odds weren't too bad.

But they also had Chris, so he had to be extra careful not to get the other man killed

Suddenly, he heard one of Mayfield's man calling out, "Collins, we know you're here. Come out or I will kill the agent."

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7

Great, Chris thought. This guy must be stupid if he thinks that would work on a man like Darkov. Although the guy had saved his life a couple of times today, and Chris had certainly seen a different side of him; but he still wasn't sure how much of that had been real and how much had been to get his help in escaping from Mayfield. No, Darkov was probably far away by now.

Apparently, one of Mayfield's men shared his sentiments. "You really think Collins will come back for that agent, Thomlins?"

"It doesn't hurt to try, does it?" the man, Thomlins, replied, his eyes roving across the forest.

"This is your last chance, Collins; come out with your hands up, or he's dead." To prove his point, Thomlins pointed his gun on the side of Chris' head.

Chris didn't know who was more surprised, he or Mayfield's men, when Darkov suddenly stepped out from behind a tree, his hands up and behind his head.

"I'm here," Darkov said his eyes passing over the three men to stop on Chris. "Now, take your gun from his head," he ordered, slowly walking closer to them.

Shit, Chris just thought, silently cursing his stupidity. Collins must know that they would kill them both now. He just couldn't believe that the man had actually given himself up. For Chris. That doesn't seem to fit Darkov at all. Although the man Chris had seen here was quite different from the ruthless killer in Kiev, Chris had to admit.

To give himself up was sheer stupid… unless he had a plan, a way to get out of this situation. Maybe he thought he could talk Mayfield into letting them go, but the drug lord would never go for that. Not after they tried to escape, killing several of his men in the process. Surely Darkov would know that, so he must have another plan. Looking up, Chris studied Darkov's face for clues as he approached them.

Like he'd been waiting for it, Darkov caught his eye, as if trying to convey a message. Chris wasn't so sure what he wanted to tell him, but from Darkov's posture, he could see that the man was readying himself for an attack.

Even though Chris was waiting for it, he nearly missed Darkov suddenly bringing his hands, and the gun he had hidden behind his head, to the front, taking out the guy next to Chris with deadly precision.

Chris threw himself around to take out the next man, but suddenly, two more shots were fired. From two different guns.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7

Looking up, Chris saw that he and Darkov were the only ones left standing. Darkov looked pale, sweat gathering on his brows, but the gun he held in his hands was still, pointing unwaveringly into the forest behind Chris.

Unlike Chris, he didn't look surprised when four men stepped out from behind the trees. Four men Chris knew and trusted with his life.

"It's about time you turned up. Was kinda thinking you'd forgotten all about me," he said, grinning widely at them, relieved to see his friends.

"Yeah, actually, we tried everything we could to not find you. Old Bucklin here said he wanted a new team member with curves in the right places," Vin teased, ducking out of Buck's reach.

Chris just laughed, happy to hear the familiar banter. "Nice shooting there, Vin," he stated, aware that Vin's marksmanship had probably saved his life, for the umpteenth time since the tracker and sniper had joined his team.

Vin nodded at him, his eyes meeting Chris' in a silent question. _Are you ok?_

_Yeah, I'm good. Don't worry_, Chris sent back.

"Argh, stop your telepathic thingy," Buck interrupted them impatiently. "And your friend over there wasn't too bad either. Who is he anyway, Larabee?" he said, pointing at Darkov.

Suddenly aware that he had forgotten about the other man, he turned around to see how Darkov was reacting to the presence of even more ATF agents.

He was still standing there, a few meters away from Chris and his team, the gun held loosely in his hand; his posture wasn't exactly relaxed, but wasn't ready to attack, either.

He seemed to be just surveying the situation, but Chris could see that he was nearly at the end of his rope, his injuries having taken their tole.

Damn, what do you do with a perp you knew was a killer, but who had saved your life three times in one day? There was no way Chris could just let him go, even though he owed him a lot.

He just hoped Buck wouldn't kill Darkov as soon as he heard his name, and would let Chris explain first. He had been with Chris in Kiev, and while he hadn't seen the shooting itself, he had been as furious as Chris when the bust was over and Darkov couldn't be found.

Keeping an eye on Buck, he waved his hand at Darkov.

"This is-"

He was abruptly stopped by Vin calling out a surprised, "Callen?"

Oh shit, Chris just thought, readying himself to defend Darkov not only from Buck, but also from Vin. Maybe the ex-bounty hunter had apprehended Darkov under even another name before. Then he knew exactly what kind of man he was. But he owed the man. and he wouldn't let Vin or Buck attack him.

Chris tried to gauge Vin's reaction, but for once he couldn't read his Second's face.

Turning to Darkov. Chris found the same inscrutable expression in his eyes.

"Tanner," he acknowledged the other man, his voice betraying nothing.

After a moment of silence Darkov went on, "Heard you joined the ATF," in the same inflectionless tone.

By now, Chris had the feeling of two cougars circling each other. But as long as they were still talking and not maiming one another, Chris didn't want to stop this. He was quite curious now to see where this strange conversation would lead.

"Yeah," Vin confirmed, his eyes still fixed on the other man. "Heard you left the DEA."

Wait, what?

Chris was so astonished by what he'd just heard that he nearly missed Darkov's reply.

Darkov shrugged sheepishly. "A friend roped me into it."

Suddenly, as if triggered by a silent prompt, both men grinned widely and said in unison, "Gibbs."

Chris was still trying to get over his surprise, but Buck was faster. "I take it, you know each other?" he asked curiously, his eyes moving from one man to the other.

"Yeah, Callen and I served together in the army. After that, I started bounty hunting, and he joined the DEA," Vin replied, not moving his gaze from Callen.

"May I inquire as to who this Gibbs is you mentioned, Mister Tanner?" Ezra joined the conversation as Chris continued standing there, his thoughts running wild.

"Gibbs is a friend, a marine we worked with on a couple of assignments. He's now working for NCIS," Callen replied this time.

Vin felt another grin tug the corners of his mouth. "So you finally gave in and joined NCIS, I heard," he said brightly, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Yeah," Callen confirmed, grinning sheepishly. "You can only put up with so much of him dissing the DEA and praising NCIS. It's like brainwashing, I swear," he complained, still grinning.

Chris still couldn't get his head around what was happening here. So Darkov was not Darkov - and not Collins, either - but Callen, a special agent working for the NCIS? And Vin knew him? And from what he could gauge, knew him quite well, even if they might not have actually talked to each other for some time? Well, enough to let his guard down, anyway, and that didn't happen with many people outside of the team.

But before Chris could sort totally through his confused thoughts, he saw Callen pale even more, his legs giving out under him as he sank to the ground.

Chris and Vin were the first ones to reach the wounded man's side, quickly joined by Nathan. Vin started to quietly talk to him while Nathan checked his pulse.

Crouching next to Callen, Chris silently berated himself. He should have gotten Nathan to check on him sooner, but through all the commotion, he had totally forgotten about the man's injuries.

Not knowing what else he could do at the moment, he stood up and turned to Buck. "Did you get Mayfield?" he asked, a hard glint in his eyes.

His old friend grinned evilly. "Yeah, Josiah and JD are keeping an eye on them."

Turning more serious, he continued, "Back up and an ambulance are on their way."

"How did you find us, anyway?" Chris asked, the thought just now coming to him.

"Ahm, don't get angry, but JD and Vin decided to test one of JD's new toys on you," Buck replied, his voice taking on a slightly concerned tone.

"A new toy? What kind of new toy?" Chris asked quietly. his voice slightly clouded now by a threatening undertone.

"Just one of those new locator thingies we got last week, the ones that are supposed to be nearly undetectable if you didn't know they're there. Apparently JD bet Vin that you wouldn't find it. Just took some time to notice that you were missing," Buck explained, taking a step back as he was well aware of Larabee's often volatile temper.

But before Chris could react to what he had just heard, a moan interrupted his thoughts.

When he looked back down at Callen, he noticed that his eyes were slowly fluttering open and that Vin was still speaking softly to him.

"Come on G, open your eyes," he was saying encouragingly.

It seemed to work, and Callen blinked a couple of times at Vin before his eyes moved to settle on Chris.

"You okay?" He rasped, his eyes showing a hint of worry.

Chris couldn't believe it. This man had gone through hell, not just at the hand of their kidnappers, but also at Chris's. And he was worried for him? Chris didn't know how he could have ever thought that he was some ruthless killer.

Chris went over and crouched down next to Callen. For a moment, he didn't do anything but study the man lying there - covered in bruises, blood and sweat – as he let his mind run through the events of the last day.

Then, having come to a decision, he slowly stretched his arm out to Callen, careful not to spook the man.

"Chris Larabee, Special Agent with the ATF, and sometimes a mean, ignorant, self-righteous son of a bitch," he introduced himself.

Chris owed this man. Not only for saving his life several times that day, but also for getting Callen into this mess in the first place and for treating him with nothing but contempt and hate. He just hoped that in time the other man would forgive him. Chris had to admit he had come to like him, even when he had still thought of Callen as a killer, but had tried to push that feeling down. Now knowing that Callen was in fact an agent too, he felt relieved - relieved that the man he had come to respect and actually like was no murderer.

Still keeping his arm stretched out to Callen, he waited.

NCISLAxM7x NCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7xNCISLAxM7

Callen tried to get his bearings.

Mayfield and his men were caught. Check. Larabee's team had saved them. Check. He was on the ground and hurt like hell. Check. Check. Check.

Damn. Ok, Vin Tanner was kneeing next to him looking worried. Check. Larabee's team was standing around them, none the worse for wear. Check.

Wait. Stop. Larabee. Where was Chris? Was he injured? What if he had been too slow, or Larabee hadn't gotten his message and had been caught in the line of fire?

No. He was sure Chris had moved away. Hadn't he?

Moving his head was harder than he thought it would be. But to his relief, he was able to see Chris standing to the side with one of his men. By now both were looking at him, Chris with a strange look that seemed to be a combination of remorse, surprise and worry, while the other man just stared at him with open curiosity.

Chris looked unharmed, but you could never be sure.

"You okay?" Callen rasped quietly, hating how weak his voice sounded. For a moment, Chris just looked at him. Callen didn't know how to read that look. Was Chris glad that he wasn't Darkov, or Collins? Or was he angry because Callen had gotten him into this situation and had never told him that he was an agent himself?

Somehow, Chris's reaction mattered to Callen. Yeah, Larabee had treated him like shit. But if it had been the other way around, Callen was sure he would have done the same. He had come to like the other man despite their problems, and hoped that, in time, they would call each other friends.

But he didn't need him. He had Sam. And Gibbs. And Hetty. That was quite a lot for a loner like himself. He didn't need Chris Larabee.

So if he was angry at him or even hateful for not telling the truth and for getting him into this situation, Callen could deal with it. He always did. It would be disappointing, though, as he had come to like and even trust the guy a bit. But Callen was no stranger to disappointment. He would get over it. Forget about the Agent, forget about what they had been through together.

Callen nearly had given up on getting a reply, when Chris came over to his side. For a moment he did nothing but look at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Callen didn't know what to expect. He tensed slightly, but knew that he wouldn't be able to do much if Larabee decided to attack him.

When Chris stretched his arm out to him, only the slow speed of the movement kept Callen from flinching. Expecting the worst, he was astonished when Chris's hand stopped in front of him and introduced himself - and what an introduction that was; an introduction that was both an apology and an offer of friendship in one.

Totally caught off guard by this unexpected gesture, Callen didn't know how to react for a moment. Looking at Chris, he tried to gauge the other man's intentions. But Chris's eyes only showed something between compassion, remorse, worry and friendship, and he detected no hint of deception.

Taking a leap of faith and trust, he grabbed the other man's lower arm.

"G. Callen, best undercover agent of the alphabet soup," he stated grinning at Chris.

For now, that was enough. Both men knew that there would be some talking, later, when Callen was better. But for now, they had found peace with each other, and maybe the beginnings of a friendship.

Time would tell.

.

This is it. 'Allies' has come to an end - or maybe a beginning?

I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic as much as I did writing it.


End file.
